


Blueberries and Cream

by fragilelittleteacup



Series: Boys [1]
Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Sex, Bullying (mentioned), Confessions, Cute, First Dates, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Homophobia (mentioned), M/M, Romance, Self-Esteem Issues, So fluffy it hurts, Speech Disorders, inspired by hayley kiyoko's citrine album
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-30 06:46:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8522716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fragilelittleteacup/pseuds/fragilelittleteacup
Summary: A first date and a summer love. (a college AU)





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock had never been so nervous in his life.

He sat rigidly still in his seat, too afraid to fidget and second-guess himself, otherwise he’d start questioning the whole scenario.

Was he wearing the right clothes? He’d chosen a milky white suit shirt and charcoal pants, because he remembered his mother saying the combination suited him and brought out his eyes. He thought they made him look pasty and altogether unbearably _English,_ but he hadn’t known what else to choose. He didn’t like anything he wore. Everything in his wardrobe was too formal for relaxing with college friends, and he favoured that as an explanation as to why they always taunted him.

Had this café been the right choice? He’d spent days trying meals and dining out, just to find the perfect eating place for today, and he’d been sure this place was perfect. It was suitably impressive, but not showy or painfully upper-class, and their food was impeccable. Still, he quaked in fear of appearing ‘posh’. Fellow students had beaten and tormented him for less–and their opinion didn’t even matter to him. Today _mattered._

He took a shaky breath, and was just about to flee to the bathroom, when the door to the café opened, and Sherlock was, once again, struck speechless.

All his doubts seemed to simultaneously amplify and disappear, the moment he saw Marcus. Granted, it was a common reaction, and Sherlock had gotten used to confusing and conflicting emotions whenever he met with the other boy. Marcus was on the running team, the swim team, the boxing club, and regularly attended the mixed martial arts class as well as the gym in his own time. He was defined, in a way that Sherlock both envied and found intensely attractive. He was also honest and unflinching in a way that Sherlock’s every other friend and relation was not; where English aristocratic mannerisms were so dry and veiled, Marcus was honest and true, and Sherlock found that both irresistibly refreshing and terrifyingly straightforward.

Marcus’ physique had earned him a reputation among the college, and he was never short of suitors or advances from others. Yet, he had been the one to ask Sherlock out; to suggest, not so subtly, that they go on a date. Sherlock had not only been stunned, he had been–at first–suspicious that it was just a mockery, a cruel joke.

Somehow, even sitting at this table, he still expected that it may be a nasty trick.

Sherlock felt so small and weedy, looking over at him. At his chest, the way it filled out his grey shirt. At his arms, at his posture, at his strong jaw. Marcus was looking around the café, trying to find him; Sherlock fancied, for a second, that this moment could last forever. That he could sit here, watching Marcus, and never have to confront him, never have to speak to him and surely make an arse out of himself.

But he waved Marcus over anyway.

Upon seeing him, a wide grin broke out on Marcus’ face. He walked over, scratching at his neck shyly in a way he only ever did when he was nervous. Sherlock couldn’t believe he was the source of such nervousness.

He couldn’t believe a boy this beautiful would want him.

“Good morning,” Sherlock said, as Marcus sat. He cleared his throat deliberately; when he was nervous, he stuttered. His speech therapist had said speaking slowly was best. Enunciating, breathing, pausing.

“Mornin’,” Marcus replied.

Then, to Sherlock’s utter surprise, he leaned over, and kissed Sherlock’s cheek.

Sherlock froze, blinked several times. It felt as if a shock of electricity had jolted through him. Marcus leaned back, smirking, and Sherlock remembered what he’d said once; _I like makin’ you blush._ Sherlock could feel heat in his cheeks, his heart pounding, and he knew that Marcus had succeeded. He must look a darn fool.

“You shaved.” He blurted, for lack of anything else to say.

“’Course. I remember you sayin’ you liked me clean-shaven.”

Sherlock swallowed. “Did I say that?”

Marcus grinned. “Yeah. Have you ordered?”

“Yes.” At last, a question or problem Sherlock knew the answer to. “I got you pancakes with blueberries and icing sugar, cream on the side. And freshly-squeezed orange juice. A favourite of yours, if I recall.”

Marcus nodded, seeming impressed. “Y’know, for a first date, this is feelin’ a bit rehearsed.”

It was a joke, of course. But Sherlock looked down, embarrassed. “I- I’m sorry.”

“’Ey,” Marcus said softly. “Don’t worry ‘bout it, you ain’t done nothin’ wrong.”

Sherlock didn’t look up, too uncomfortable, too conscious of his own desperation in wanting this date to be perfect, too horrified that he’d just stuttered when he’d promised himself he wouldn’t. Just as he was about to call the whole thing off, rebuff this impossibly perfect boy and flee, Marcus reached over, and took his hand. Sherlock froze, his head jerking up so he could stare at Marcus with wide eyes.

“I like it,” Marcus smiled, his eyes soft and affectionate in a way that would surely make Sherlock’s knees go weak if he were standing, “and I like _you._ So relax, ‘kay? Sorry I made a bad joke.”

Sherlock could barely hear anything over his pounding heart. He nodded, in lieu of actually replying with words, and yanked his hand away.

To his immense relief, a waitress chose that moment to appear with their breakfasts. As she placed them down, Sherlock busied himself with subtly wiping his hands on his pants, trying to dry the sweat off his palms. Marcus always did this. Always made him feel nervous and shaky and tense. It was so much easier for him to keep most people at arm’s length. This was hard, and it was altogether new. He’d never been asked on a real date before. And certainly not by a _boy_. Good God, if his father knew. He’d likely be disowned and thrown out onto the streets.

Sherlock took a deep breath, and resolved not to think about his father today.

To his satisfaction, Marcus’ meal looked perfect. Pancakes arranged satisfyingly on the plate, a quaint pile of blueberries scattered over them, icing sugar not too thick or too thin. A bowl of whipped cream was placed down too, near the cutlery. Sherlock paused for a moment to regard his own meal; scrambled eggs with a side of vegetables. He’d have preferred sausages too, but he knew Marcus didn’t eat red meat, and so had declined to eat it himself during their date.

He watched with rapt attention as Marcus cut himself a piece of pancake, speared some blueberries with his fork, and ate the mouthful. He tried not to smile too widely when Marcus became immersed in the taste, when Marcus hummed approvingly.

“It’s good,” Marcus said.

Sherlock nodded briskly. “Yes, I expected as much. This place prides itself on fresh produce. I sampled their pancakes earlier this week, and found them to my satisfaction. I’m glad you do as well.”

“You came here and ate pancakes to make sure I’d like ‘em?”

“I…” Sherlock suddenly regretted opening his mouth. “…Yes. Is that… weird?”

“Nah.” Marcus was grinning widely, “It’s actually kinda cute.”

Sherlock felt himself blush furiously. Marcus continued to grin at him, until Sherlock was forced to look down at his meal and frantically begin eating. He couldn’t think of a reply.

“U-um,” he began, eventually, “How are your classes?”

“A’ight.” Marcus shrugged. “Still not sure college is my thing, though. Reckon I might join the Police Academy after all.”

Sherlock nodded his approval, still keeping his eyes trained on his meal. He knew he’d have to look up eventually. His speech therapist had told him he needed to maintain eye contact with people in order to build confidence in conversation.

“Yes, you have all the merits of a policeman. I’d encourage you in that endeavour.”

“You think?”

“Of course. You’ve got keen senses and observatory skills, higher-than-average intelligence, and physically you’re…”

Silence fell. Sherlock cursed himself for even speaking. He could see Marcus grinning at him from the corner of his eye.

“…exceptional.” Sherlock finished, swallowing.

“Well, thanks.” Marcus replied, his smile evident in his tone.

“I’m only stating the obvious.” Sherlock muttered. He took a sip of his coffee, wondering how on earth other people managed socialising so easily. He could barely breathe for how difficult this was for him.

“You’re pretty exceptional yourself.”

Sherlock sighed as he put his coffee down. He hated it when people talked about his intelligence. It was objectifying in the strangest and most uncomfortable of ways. It made him feel like a science experiment.

“Yes, I know,” he replied dully.

“I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout your intellect, though, yeah, that too.”

Sherlock looked up, frowning. Marcus’ face was clear and honest.

“What on earth are you talking about, then?”

“How you look?” Marcus hedged, as if it were obvious.

Sherlock scoffed. “I’m not physically exceptional. I’d prefer you disperse with false compliments. Just be honest.”

Marcus frowned deeply. He appeared somewhat upset, though Sherlock couldn’t understand why.

“I like how you look. Doesn’t my opinion count?”

“I… W-well yes, of course your opinion counts. But that hardly changes facts.”

Marcus was still frowning, staring intently into Sherlock’s eyes, and Sherlock wanted to shrink down in his seat. Moments passed, and he wished Marcus would say something, because he didn’t understand why Marcus was acting so strangely.

“You’re slender,” Marcus said quietly, “you’re graceful. I like how your hands move, I like your face. I like your hips. Ain’t nothin’ ‘bout you that ain’t exceptional. You shouldn’t look down on yourself like you do.”

Sherlock swallowed hard. His face was hot again, and he knew he must be the colour of a tomato. Marcus was still looking at him intensely, as if this discussion was crucially important. Sherlock couldn’t comprehend it; he saw no merit in his own physical appearance. Yet every deductive skill he had confirmed Marcus was telling the truth.

 _I like your hips._ There was something so intimate about that statement.

“…Thank you.” Sherlock said, not knowing how else to reply.

Marcus nodded, seeming satisfied. “What ‘bout you? How’s your studies?”

Sherlock sighed, somewhat shakily. He wondered if Marcus even knew what he did; how his every word seemed so incredible, his every casual proclamation so unconceivably astonishing.

“Boring,” Sherlock replied, glad they were again talking about something he was comfortable with, “Why father encouraged me into a law degree is beyond me. I’ve no interest in it at all.”

“Well, what do you wanna do?”

Sherlock shrugged, meeting Marcus’ eyes with a wry smile. “I’ve no idea. Never have.”

“That’s cool.” Marcus grinned. “You’ve got all your life to decide.”

“And the money.” Sherlock bitterly added. “You can say it, I won’t be offended.”

Marcus blinked. He was silent for a long moment.

“…I don’t care who your family is, Sherlock, I’ve said it before. I’m here ‘cause I like _you._ ”

Sherlock was taken aback by the wounded honesty in Marcus’ voice. “You don’t resent my family’s wealth?”

Marcus shook his head. He smiled, and his expression seemed sad, almost pitying. “Nah. I reckon you do, though.”

Sherlock looked away. He thought of his father again, and closed his eyes for a moment, afraid at just the thought of how he’d be punished for going on a date with a boy. The shame of it.

He felt Marcus take his hand again. Gently, softly. This time, Sherlock didn’t pull his hand away, though his hammering heart and burning cheeks were a testament to his nervousness. He turned back to Marcus, looked him in the eyes.

“You’re your own person, Sherlock.” Marcus said slowly. “You ain’t your dad’s property.”

Sherlock continued to look into his eyes, swallowing as the weight of that statement hit him. Marcus was so earnest, so wholeheartedly sure of himself and those words. For a moment, a blissful moment, Sherlock believed him. He felt stronger, removed from the tethers of his familial obligation. He felt free.

All he’d wanted to do, since he first saw Marcus, was kiss him. Suddenly, he felt he could. He leaned over, slowly, almost afraid Marcus would push him away, and then they were kissing; his mouth against Marcus, soft and unsure. He could taste blueberries and cream. Marcus kissed him back, barely a movement of his lips, and Sherlock felt fireworks explode within him. This was all he wanted. All he needed.

He leaned back to see that Marcus was smiling, his face full of blissful, unrestrained happiness.

“I’ve never kissed anyone before,” Sherlock whispered.

“Did you like it?” Marcus replied. His voice was quiet too, his smile wide.

Sherlock felt himself smile, and for once didn’t care that he was blushing, that he was nervous.

“Yes,” he answered.

“You wanna kiss me again?”

Sherlock grinned, and did.

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

They spread out towels and lay on them, propping up glass bottles of soda in the sand. Marcus was wearing faded flower-patterned shorts and $5 corner store sunglasses, one arm folded behind his head and the other by his side. Sherlock lay beside him, in plain black shorts and smooth Versace glasses. Beside them was their bikes; one with peeling blue paint and a cracked light, the other with new rims and a polished metal frame. It was a scene of sun-bleached pastel; warm colours, the hum of the ocean, and the smell of sea salt.

They were at odds, the two of them; utterly opposite, utterly different.

Yet they fit so well together.

Marcus propped himself up on an elbow, movements slow and unhurried, body loosened by the summer heat. He reached for his bottle of Coke, had a long pull of the sugary liquid. Sherlock looked up at him, youthful devotion stunning him into a kind of revelation as he wondered, for the hundredth time that week alone, how he’d gotten so lucky. How this beautiful boy had chosen him, of all people.

Marcus lifted up his sunglasses, smirked down at him. “What?”

Sherlock smiled up at him, feeling butterflies hum where his heart belonged.

Marcus grinned wider, laughed incredulously. “What is it, Sherlock? Why you lookin’ at me like that?”

“…We should get out of the sun,” Sherlock said, eventually, “I’m starting to burn.”

It hadn’t been what he intended to say, but that was alright; Marcus laughed again, and it was plainly apparent he– as always– knew precisely what Sherlock had been unable to voice. Sherlock loved that about him. He heard everything, he saw everything.

“Well, you look fine to me,” Marcus replied slyly, and Sherlock blushed.

“You’re an insatiable flirt.”

“Mm,” Marcus hummed, leaning down, “You love it.”

Their lips met, innocent and chaste, warm and slow. Once, they’d been so scared of this. To kiss in public. Two boys, in love. Sherlock reached up, curled his fingers around Marcus’ neck, stroked the skin there tenderly.

“We should get ice cream,” Sherlock murmured against his lips.

 

***

 

They rode their bikes to a small, sand-coloured ice cream store that was a few blocks from the beach. It was tiny, a few metal chairs clustered by the counter, a fan humming in an attempt to keep the heat away. Sherlock ordered pistachio and vanilla ice cream for himself, and handed Marcus an ice cream before he could pick one. It was a vivid blue colour entwined with streaks of creamy white, a drip travelling down the side of the brown cone.

Marcus flicked his tongue out, dragged it up the side of the cone, tasted the ice cream. Met Sherlock’s eyes, grinned when he saw a blush creeping up Sherlock’s already heat-flushed face.

“Blueberry?”

“Yes,” Sherlock replied, “Do you like it?”

“You knew I would.”

“Guilty as charged,” Sherlock smiled shyly, as they went to sit on the red-and-white striped chairs, “It… reminds me of our first date. Blueberries, that is.”

“God, you’re so cute.”

“Sh- Shut up,” Sherlock muttered, as Marcus leaned forward, kissed him again. It seemed they were always kissing. Always touching. Always close. Sherlock had never been loved by anyone else, not like this; he was so pure, so innocent, that Marcus wanted to hold him forever, wanted to bury him in blankets in a bed they’d never have to leave.

He knew that, one day soon, they’d have to tell Sherlock’s father. It would be rough. But Marcus would be there for him, to soothe his pain, to hold his hand in the face of judgement. He’d fought his own battles, and won them, long ago; he wasn’t afraid of his own father, and he certainly was not afraid of Sherlock’s.

They would make it through. Together.

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock pulled his white t-shirt off, looking down at his lap, shy. Marcus pulled his shirt off too, touched Sherlock’s cheek. Tilted his head up.

“You’re beautiful.”

Sherlock bit his lip, and Marcus could tell he wanted to argue. Wanted to deny it. His eyes moved up and down Marcus’ body, hungrily cataloguing the curves and lines of his muscled chest, and Marcus knew there was jealousy as well as desire in his expression.

It didn’t matter. Marcus would prove that to him.

He guided Sherlock down onto his back, kissing him, tasting ice cream, hands on either side of him. The window was open, hot summer air wafting into the room, Sherlock warm and soft under him. It felt right, to do this here. Surrounded by posters of rock stars, half-abandoned schoolwork, and the mess of a teenage room. Far removed from the rigid suffocation of Sherlock’s home, the reality of his father’s expectations. This was comfortable, this was safe. Marcus had condoms in his bedside drawer, as well as lube, on top of the porno mags he was using less and less nowadays. He was ready for this, had been for a while. And he’d been so patient, so careful. He’d done fast relationships and one-night-stands before, but that wasn’t what he wanted for him and Sherlock.

This was too important for that.

Sherlock’s tongue rolled into Marcus’ mouth, silky and hot, and Marcus gripped the back of his neck, drawing a hand down his side, their chests pressed together. Skin on skin. He could feel Sherlock’s heart beating against his down.

“You ready to do this?” He asked, just to be sure, lifting up his head to look down at Sherlock. “You ain’t gotta say yes, not yet. We can do other stuff, if you want.”

Sherlock looked up at him, lips twitching with a shy smile, eyes nervous, eager, excited.

“I w- want you. I want this.” He swallowed, stuttering because he was anxious and wanting, and Marcus smiled fondly down at him, loving that Sherlock could be unashamed about stuttering now.

“You sure?”

“Of course. I promise.”

Marcus kissed him again. “Okay. Okay.”

 

 

They discovered each other's bodies in a way they'd never done before; Sherlock was sensitive, shy, unsure, and entirely new to this level of physical intimacy. Marcus kissed every inch of his body, and then climbed on top of him, sank down onto him.

Sherlock arched, gasping, mouth opening and closing wordlessly.

Marcus smiled down at him, breath catching in his throat for a moment, as he adjusted to the stretch. It'd been a while since he'd done this.

"You okay?" Marcus asked.

"Yes," Sherlock breathed, "Shouldn't- Shouldn't I be asking  _you_ that?"

"I'm good," Marcus rolled his hips forward, to prove his point, moaning quietly, "See? Perfect."

Sherlock laughed breathlessly, sounding awed, "I believe you."

 

***

 

 They lay there for a long time afterwards, both feeling open and vulnerable and warm. It was strange feeling, a height of emotion that both young men were unused to. Sherlock had never had sex before, and Marcus had never had sex with someone he'd cared deeply about. 

"Thank you," Sherlock said, eventually, so quietly that Marcus could barely hear him.

"Nah," Marcus replied, just as quietly, "thank  _you._ For lettin' me in. I know you were nervous about this."

Sherlock didn't reply for a long time. The sky was dark outside, and the air streaming through the window was starting to become colder, leaving goosebumps on their skin. The sheets did little to stop the cold.

"I love you," Sherlock said, suddenly.

The silence, for a long moment, was filled with the weight of those words. Marcus lifted his head, looked at Sherlock. Saw the honesty in his face, the vulnerability in his eyes. He smiled, and slowly leaned down to kiss him.

Quiet. Gentle.

"I love you too."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This series is inspired by Hayley Kiyoko's music, and her Citrine EP, particularly Pretty Girl.... also, Years & Years.  
> Look them up, and I hope you enjoyed this story <3


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